


It's A Hard Life

by ImpishTubist



Series: come let the new child play [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Genderfluid Character, Kid Fic, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 06:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist
Summary: How exactly does one go about raising a child with his hereditary enemy?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: come let the new child play [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493594
Comments: 15
Kudos: 119





	It's A Hard Life

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Queen’s “It’s A Hard Life”. 
> 
> We’re three fics into this ‘verse now, so it’s time for some series notes! I’m sure most have you noticed this already, but just a note that they/them pronouns are used for Abel throughout this series, while Crowley continues to be a wonderfully genderfluid being. Aziraphale uses he/him pronouns throughout. Essentially, I’m going with the fanon headcanon that Crowley embraces all of the genders while Aziraphale is more like “no thank you” when it comes to gender. 
> 
> I’m using the A/C tag because of massive pining and the fact that these two are in love but won’t admit it, but it’s going to be a while before they get over that, so don’t expect them to get _together_ together anytime soon. We still have many centuries to get through before canon. 
> 
> Everything I know about babies/children comes from observing the ones in my life and Google, so don’t expect the accuracy to be perfect there. :) 
> 
> Massive thanks, as always, to Alston--for cheerleading, beta’ing, and being an incredible friend <3

**179 A.D.**

It was rare anymore that Aziraphale got discorporated. 

Mostly, this was because the being largely responsible for his discorporations over the centuries had mostly withdrawn from Aziraphale’s life. Over the course of the four thousand years that had transpired between the Garden and Christ’s death, Crowley had got the better of him a dozen times. Aziraphale had returned the favor in kind a dozen times as well, and so by the time the baby came into existence, they had reached a comfortable sort of...well, stalemate, Aziraphale supposed.

Only he didn’t know where they stood _ now_. Two hereditary enemies who had killed each other a dozen times over the centuries, two beings who actively tried to wipe the other out of existence, two adversaries who had inexplicably created a child together...where did that leave them?

He tried not to dwell on it too often. He couldn’t afford the distraction. He still had Heaven’s orders to carry out, after all, as well as demonic wiles to thwart. He couldn’t spend his days distracted by thoughts of Crowley, thoughts of the child, thoughts of what Heaven would do to him if they found out about his transgression. 

Only Aziraphale was an imperfect angel, and he found that he couldn’t wholly focus on Heaven, not even when he was carrying out their orders. Which was why one afternoon he found himself sprawled flat on his back in the dirt, a knife stuck clean through his chest, blinking rainwater out of his eyes as his vision grayed out and faded. 

It took him eleven years to come back from that discorporation. Eleven years of paperwork and retraining and Gabriel’s insufferable lectures. Eleven years of mind-numbing misery. At least they had given him a similar body this time around. Shorter than he was used to, but with the same curls and blue eyes. Crowley would know him on sight. 

Aziraphale spent ten years in various locations that ringed the Earth, hugging the equator where possible. He told himself it was because the majority of souls to be saved could be found there, because that was where the majority of Earth’s population was concentrated. 

He knew, deep down, it was because snakes are cold-blooded creatures, and rarely venture from warmer climes if they can help it. 

_ I’ll find you,_ Crowley had said, and in the end that was precisely what happened. Aziraphale returned to his tent one night, arms laden with fruit from the market, and found the demon sitting cross-legged in front of a crackling fire Aziraphale knew he hadn’t left untended. 

“Wasn’t sure if you were coming back from that one,” Crowley said by way of greeting. “What’s that now, twenty-one discorporations? The majority of which were my doing, I feel I should point out.”

“Gabriel nearly didn’t send me back,” Aziraphale said stiffly. He set down his burden and crossed his arms over his chest. “But no other agent is as familiar with humanity. What are you doing here?”

Crowley lifted his eyebrows and swept his gaze pointedly over Aziraphale, from his toes to the tips of his hair. Aziraphale felt his face heat. 

“Just wanted to make sure you were in one piece, angel. _ And _that they’d given you a satisfactory corporation.” 

“If you’re only here to gloat, then you can--”

“_And _I brought the baby.” 

Crowley gestured, and it was only then that Aziraphale noticed the small cot nestled in the corner of the tent, mostly hidden in shadow. Easily overlooked, if he hadn’t been looking for it in the first place. Abel stirred when Aziraphale lifted them into his arms, and stared up at him with wide sky-blue eyes. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said after a moment. He bounced the baby in his arms, the way he’d seen Crowley do. Abel broke into a wide smile, and giggled. “You’ve grown, haven’t you?”

Not by much--it had only been twenty years, after all. But Abel weighed more now, by his estimate, and their curls were more pronounced. 

“They’re eating solid foods now.” Crowley pushed himself to his feet and leaned against one of the tent's poles, all sharp lines and flat planes. He folded his arms over his chest. “Not exclusively, not yet, but we’re getting there.”

The relief in his voice was palpable.

“Walking?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Not yet, but I think that’s next. Oh, for--here, let me.” 

Abel was fidgeting, much more so than last time, and it was a struggle to keep a firm grip on them. Crowley pulled the blanket off of them and tossed it over his shoulder, then adjusted Abel in Aziraphale’s grip so that the baby was balanced upright on his hip and looking at Aziraphale head-on.

“There,” Crowley said softly, and stepped away.

Baby and angel stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Aziraphale whispered, “Hello, my love,” and Abel _ laughed_. Their whole body shook with it, the way Crowley’s did on the rare occasions when Aziraphale startled a laugh out of him, and they slapped their hands on Aziraphale’s chest. 

Crowley said nothing more. He settled on the ground with a jug of wine, alternating between drinking from it and warming his hands on the fire. He cast the occasional glance in Aziraphale’s direction, watching him discreetly, but left him alone to play with their child.

*******

**233 A.D.**

Aziraphale was standing on a moonlit beach when he felt it, the ripple that happened when a powerful being bent and folded reality around them. He turned to see Crowley standing behind him, Abel propped on his hip.

"I was in the area," he said. "Business. Have to report to Hastur in an hour, so we can't stay long. Say hello to Aziraphale, Abel."

Abel stuck a fist in their mouth and grinned around it. Crowley sighed.

"We'll get there someday. Want to hold them?"

"Please," Aziraphale said, and accepted the child as Crowley handed them over. "What sort of business?"

"Can't talk about it." But Crowley hovered closer than usual, ready to snatch Abel back at a moment's notice. Aziraphale tried not to take it personally--one could only guess at what kinds of terrors Hastur had threatened Crowley with.

"Walk with me?" he asked instead, and they started up the beach together. 

"Your office send you here on business as well?" Crowley asked after a time. 

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally, painfully aware that Crowley's presence here probably meant that all his hard work had just been canceled out. 

They came upon a series of small boulders strewn about the sand. Aziraphale sat on the ground and crossed his legs, leaning back against the rock. It was still warm from the day’s heat. He settled Abel on the sand in front of him. Abel seemed startled by the texture, and spent several moments petting the sand with their hands, then grabbed small fistfuls of it and let it trickle between their fingers. 

“Have they ever been to the sea before?”

“Here and there.” Crowley sat next to him, close enough that he could grab Abel if needed but too far away for any casual contact between the two of them. “I like this stretch of coast in particular.” 

“Oh?”

“You can see the stars on clear nights,” Crowley said quietly. “And the water reflects them. If you wade out a little bit, say waist-deep, you can’t see the land anymore. Just an ocean of stars. It’s...”

“Peaceful?” Aziraphale supplied.

“Home,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale had no response to that, and was saved from giving one by Abel, who had started crawling determinedly across the sand to the water. Aziraphale hurried to his feet and went after them, catching them before the waves did.

“You’re all sorts of trouble, aren’t you?” he said quietly, tickling Abel’s belly until they laughed. “Come on, then, let’s see the ocean.” 

“Angel…”

“It’s fine, Crowley. I’ve got them.” Aziraphale kissed Abel’s nose. “I’ve always got you.” 

He gripped Abel under the armpits and gently lowered them to the water. The two of them were on the edge of the shore, where the water only lapped at their feet. The bottoms of Abel’s feet grazed white foam, and they let out a happy shriek. Aziraphale set them down gently, so that the water swirled around their ankles, keeping a tight grip on them so they stood upright in the sand.

“This is the sea,” he murmured. “And it is so deep and so vast, it will be thousands of years before humanity has explored it all. It is one of Her greatest creations. After you, of course.” 

Crowley’s disapproval at invoking _ Her _rolled off of him in waves, but Aziraphale ignored it. It was easy to ignore when he wasn’t looking at Crowley. He dropped a kiss on top of Abel’s head, and when they started to squirm, lifted them into his arms again. A minor miracle, and they were dry once more. Gabriel probably wouldn’t even notice it. 

"Mamamamama," Abel babbled, reaching over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale whipped around, and gaped at Crowley.

"Did they just--"

Crowley shrugged. "Yeah, they started talking a decade or so back." 

"You never told me." Aziraphale was startled by how much that hurt. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" Crowley said testily. "Ten years wasn't that long ago. Blink of an eye." 

Abel was still reaching for Crowley, and Aziraphale handed them over. 

"Mama," Abel sighed contentedly as soon as they were in Crowley's arms again. They stuck a thumb in their mouth and murmured, "Ma, ma, ma," around it. 

“Gotta go, angel,” Crowley said. “Business.”

“Yes, you’d mentioned. I’ll see you…” Aziraphale trailed off.

“I’ll find you,” Crowley promised, and disappeared. 

*******

**300 A.D. **

Abel was almost three hundred years old before Crowley relaxed enough to allow the baby out of his sight while they visited Aziraphale. 

“Got some business in the area,” he said the moment he blinked into existence next to Aziraphale. He deposited the child in Aziraphale’s waiting arms. “Can you take them for a few hours?”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “You’re certain?”

“You’re the only being on this plane of existence who is capable of protecting them should something happen, and I can’t bring them along for this, no matter how well I can conceal them,” Crowley said. “But if you try anything, angel, I swear I will burn down the very stars I created to find you and destroy you.” 

He vanished again before Aziraphale could say anything. 

"What shall we do, Abel?" Aziraphale asked. Abel had a thumb in their mouth, and they were looking around quizzically, twisting this way and that in Aziraphale's arms.

"Mama?" they said. 

"He's working," Aziraphale said. "He'll be back for you soon. I'm afraid that, in the meantime, you're stuck with your..."

He'd hesitated for a moment, the word _ father _on the tip of his tongue, but was that truly what he was? Sure, he was a human-shaped being, and a man-shaped being at that, and any human looking at the two of them would assign him the role as father to the child. But how could he confine his relationship to this child to such human an imperfect terms? He was an ethereal being who had created life with an occult one. There were no names that were adequate enough to describe what they all were to one another.

"You're stuck with Aziraphale for the time being," he settled on finally. "So we need to occupy ourselves until Crowley returns. I know he's started you on solid foods. Let's go see what the market has to offer." 

The market offered a variety of fresh food, pottery, and other human-made wares. One of Aziraphale's favorite past-times while he was carrying out this assignment was to stroll through the market and marvel at how far humanity had come in the past four thousand years. 

It was an easy matter to purchase some fruit and mash it into a paste that Abel could consume. Aziraphale quickly found that they liked berries of all kinds, and that feeding them said berries was an exceptionally messy undertaking. Not wanting to perform too many frivolous miracles, Aziraphale procured a wet rag and wiped off Abel's hands and mouth, while Abel giggled and tried to shy away from him. 

"Aziraphale, what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

Aziraphale had been a soldier before anything else--still was, despite his demotion. He didn't startle visibly when he heard Gabriel's booming voice behind him, and he schooled his features into careful nonchalance as he picked Abel up and settled them on his hip.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he said as he turned around. Gabriel was standing some feet away, wearing his robes in a way that had been out of fashion for centuries. He never had quite got the hang of how to behave or blend in when he was on Earth. 

"That's a...baby." Gabriel said the word like it was something particularly nasty.

"It is," Aziraphale said calmly, grateful that the small robes Crowley had dressed the baby in covered their gold markings. "The mother needed some assistance this afternoon. She's got four little ones to provide for on her own. I offered to watch the youngest."

A small corner of his mind starting shrieking in panic as the biggest, easiest lie he had ever told came out of his mouth, and was said to _ Gabriel, _of all people.

"That's not part of your job description." 

"My job description is to fight the adversary and secure souls for Heaven," Aziraphale said. "How I go about that is up to my own discretion. This child's mother received some kindness from a stranger in her life today, and she may carry that as she goes forward in life, spreading good to others, and--"

"Yes, yes, I get the picture," Gabriel said, waving the words away. "I only came to check in because you're late with your report. I don't need to stress to you the importance of this assignment."

"No," Aziraphale said. "That won't be unnecessary. You'll have my report tonight." 

"Good." Gabriel gave Abel a long, hard look. Then, he shrugged and vanished. 

Aziraphale took Abel straight back to his rooms, which he warded as heavily as he believed he could get away with. Thankfully, an afternoon in the market, under a hot sun and ogling at all the activity around them, had Abel half in a doze already. It didn’t take much more to put them to sleep. Aziraphale settled on the straw mattress with the baby in his arms, unwilling to let go of them even for a moment, and hours passed as he watched them sleep.

Crowley returned by human means this time. He even knocked on the door, though he entered before Aziraphale could invite him to do so.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded the moment he saw Aziraphale’s face. He crossed the room in two quick strides and reached automatically for Abel, but Aziraphale recoiled unwittingly. “_ Angel _.”

The words pushed themselves reluctantly from Aziraphale’s throat. 

“Gabriel showed up,” he said, and the raw power that suddenly emanated from Crowley at that admission crackled in the air.

“He did _ what_?”

“He wanted a status report,” Aziraphale said dully. “He says that I didn’t file that last one on time, but it’s a lie. I know it is. He wanted an excuse to check up on me.” 

“Does he know?” Crowley asked in a low, dangerous voice. “About Abel, does he--”

“He saw that I was holding a child. I told him I was looking after a mother’s youngest so she could provide for the other four. Spreading good to all creatures, great and small,” Aziraphale said. “He couldn’t see the markings. I don’t think--I don’t think he suspected anything.”

“You don’t _ think_?”

“I don’t _ know_, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “I did what I could.”

“That’s not good enough, Aziraphale! I’ve seen you try to lie before. The only thing you’re worse at than that is being a proper angel.” 

A brittle silence descended. Aziraphale kept his eyes on Abel’s sleeping face, avoiding the look on Crowley’s. He could guess it well enough. Contempt, fury, misery. Centuries of trying to earn Crowley’s trust, and it had all unraveled in an afternoon. If only he hadn’t gone to that market. If only he’d taken Abel straight here, where the wards kept them safe, Gabriel might never have found them. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he said quietly. He ran the back of a finger down Abel’s cheek. The child snuffled in their sleep, but didn’t wake. “I can’t quite seem to get anything right, can I? No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you, Aziraphale. It’s not like you’ve Fallen for anything that you’ve done,” Crowley said bitterly. “Gave away the bleeding Flaming Sword, for fuck’s sake, and look at you. Still in Her good graces. I’ll never understand what She’s willing to overlook, and what She isn’t.” 

He held out his arms for the baby. Aziraphale couldn’t compel himself to move. 

“Please don’t take them away from me,” he said. “For good. I don’t--I couldn’t bear it, Crowley.”

“What am I supposed to do, Aziraphale?” Crowley said tiredly. “If an archangel can drop in on you at any time--”

“And what about _ your _ side?” Aziraphale demanded, lifting his head to meet Crowley’s gaze at last. “The dukes of Hell don’t give you much warning, either. How is Abel any safer with you than me?”

They stared at each other for a long while. 

“Give me my child,” Crowley said in a low voice. 

It was better, in the end, to hand Abel over, instead of having them ripped from his arms, as Crowley was likely to do. Aziraphale made the transfer gently and, before Crowley could move away, pressed a kiss to Abel’s cheek. 

“Be well, my love,” he whispered, but Crowley was gone before the words had even left his throat.

*******

**333 A.D. **

It wasn’t difficult to avoid Aziraphale, this time around. In the past, Crowley had always been aware of when Aziraphale was looking for him--for them--and had effectively been able to dodge him for all those decades when he didn’t want the angel anywhere near their child. It wasn’t as though Aziraphale was particularly skilled at subtlety. 

But Aziraphale must have taken their last encounter to heart, had effectively picked up on the fact that Crowley _ did not want _to see him, and hadn’t made an attempt to locate him since.

If Crowley were honest with himself, he would admit how much that hurt. 

It was better this way, of course. Hell was predictable. Hell was what Crowley knew best. He knew how to keep Abel hidden from them, half-witted Dukes of Hell that they were, but Heaven was another beast entirely. Oh, Gabriel played at the dumb bureaucrat well enough, but Crowley wasn’t fooled. Gabriel was subtle, and cunning, and when it came down to it--he was cruel.

The two of them were in Alexandria as Abel’s three hundredth birthday neared--though _ birthday _was an odd term that didn’t quite fit the occasion, given that they had merely popped into existence. Crowley had been feeling sentimental these past few decades, though, and he found himself drawn to this city named for a human so unlike any others he had ever met in his thousands of years on this planet. They’d shared a blissful summer together, him and Alexander, before Crowley had slipped away under the cover of night, never to be heard from again. He hadn’t wept when news of the general’s untimely death reached him some years later, but he’d promised himself then that he’d never allow a human to worm their way under his skin--or into his non-existent heart--like that again.

And yet, here he was, living in the city named after a long-dead lover, raising a child he’d created with another one that he couldn’t allow himself to love. Not that his treacherous emotions particularly _ cared _what he wanted, and longed for Aziraphale anyway.

“Mama!” 

Crowley didn’t look up from the scroll he was currently trying to decipher. While Hell had gotten better about tracking him down over the years, their missives were still almost impossible to understand. How could a Duke of Hell have such terrible handwriting?

“Yes, Abel?” he said absently.

“Ma!” Abel cried. “Ma, ma, ma!”

“I know you know more words than that, dove--” Crowley looked up, and broke off abruptly. Abel was standing with the aid of a nearby table--they’d been doing that for some time now--but they had one arm flung out for balance and looked to be on the verge of taking a step toward him. 

Crowley gaped at them for a moment, and instinctively did the only thing that felt right. 

He reached out into the ether with all his might, pouring all his powers into making the connection, and called out for Aziraphale.

The angel appeared at his side in a flash.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley pointed wordlessly at Abel, who had broken into a wide grin at Aziraphale’s appearance. 

“Have they--”

“Not yet.” Crowley moved over to the table, just out of reach, and sank into a crouch. He held out his arms. “Abel. Mama’s over here.”

He felt Aziraphale move to stand behind him. Abel considered them both, then stuffed a fist in their mouth. They held on to the table precariously with their other hand. 

“Come on, Abel,” Crowley coaxed. “Just a few steps, that’s it.” 

Abel let go of the table. They wobbled, and Crowley felt Aziraphale physically restrain himself from hurrying forward to catch the child. Abel lurched forward, one foot in front of the other...and again...and then again...and then they were in Crowley’s arms, and he had swept them into a hug, twirling them in a circle until they shrieked with laughter. 

“Goodness,” Aziraphale said softly beside him. “Oh, Abel, you incredible child.” 

Crowley didn’t even give it a second thought. He deposited Abel in Aziraphale’s arms, allowing the angel to hug the child tightly and press wet kisses to their cheeks, all while Abel giggled and squirmed. 

Aziraphale stayed through the evening, until Abel, exhausted by the activity and attention, had finally fallen asleep. Crowley let him tuck the child in bed, and then it was just the two of them, and he realized how woefully unprepared for this conversation he was. 

“Thank you for summoning me,” Aziraphale said. “That was...kind--”

“_Don’t_,” Crowley snapped, and Aziraphale fell obligingly silent. “I don’t--I don’t _ want _ to do this, I don’t want to keep them from you, I just--Aziraphale, it’s _ too dangerous _.” 

“And yet you brought me here,” Aziraphale pointed out calmly. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t fucking _ know_, Aziraphale!” He hissed the words so as not to disturb Abel. Aziraphale nodded calmly.

“Well,” he said, “when you figure it out, do let me know, will you?” 

*******

**389 A.D. **

Aziraphale sought them out near the end of the century, having finally worked up the courage to do so after more than five decades of silence. Crowley’s warning from centuries ago still echoed in his skull, but Aziraphale steadfastly tried to ignore it. Tried to convince himself that Crowley trusted him now, at least enough to allow Aziraphale to visit on his terms. Tried to tell himself that their last bitter parting had only been Crowley lashing out because he was frightened, that he hadn’t meant that the separation would be permanent. 

He found them in Greece, after having been sent there by his office to perform a couple of blessings and ensure a marriage between the children of two local, powerful families. Crowley was there as well, to ensure that the marriage didn’t go through. He was unsuccessful on that front, but was irritatingly unconcerned about it.

“It’ll never last,” he murmured to Aziraphale as he brought a cup of wine to his mouth. “The marriage will dissolve in a year, maybe two.” 

“Of course it won’t,” Aziraphale said. “They’re perfectly suited to each other, and don’t think I’m going to let you get into their heads, fiend. If you try to seduce either of them--”

“I don’t need to resort to seduction. They’ll destroy their union all on their own,” Crowley said. 

“They _ love _each other--”

“Love isn’t enough,” Crowley snapped. He took another long swallow of wine. “Never is, angel.” 

He finally turned to look at Aziraphale, his eyes hidden behind those dark spectacles he’d been wearing for almost two centuries now. Aziraphale hated that he couldn’t see the demon’s eyes anymore, even though his face was expressive enough without. 

“So you found us,” Crowley said. “Well done. I presume you want to see them?”

“The last time we spoke, I told you to let me know when you figured it out,” Aziraphale said. “It’s been fifty years. Have you figured it out yet?” 

“Awfully brazen of you,” Crowley said instead. “Turning up here like this. What’d I tell you would happen if you sought us out?”

“That I’d never see either of you again.”

“Did you think that I was bluffing?”

“You’re still standing here, aren’t you?” Aziraphale pointed out. “I think even _ you _are capable of forgiveness.”

Crowley snorted. “_Unforgivable _is what I am by definition, so I don’t know where you got that idea. And after you brought Gabriel to our door…”

“I did nothing of the kind, and you know that.” It was a struggle to hold on to his patience. He understood Crowley’s hesitation, his blatant _ fear _, but it was the same fear that Aziraphale had been living with for millennia and he was tired of letting it get in the way of seeing his child. “May I visit them?”

“What makes you think they’re even here?”

“Are you in the habit of leaving our child with others?” Aziraphale asked. “You barely trust them with _ me _. Don’t tell me you’ve found some human you trust more. I know it certainly isn’t a demon--”

“Yes, fine, they’re here,” Crowley snapped. He finished the wine with a grimace and tossed the cup aside, where an unsuspecting human tripped over it and went tumbling to the floor. Aziraphale grimaced disapprovingly, but said nothing, lest he spoil Crowley’s mood even further.

He followed Crowley out into the humid night, and the moment they were out of sight of humans, Crowley clicked his fingers and vanished them to the hills. 

He’d magicked Abel asleep earlier, so they wouldn’t wake while he was out tending to business. The baby didn’t even stir when Aziraphale lifted them and settled them against his chest. Didn’t so much as twitch until Crowley snapped his fingers and lifted the spell. 

“There, there, little one, you’re alright,” Aziraphale murmured as Abel shifted in his arms, blinking blearily and making vaguely disoriented noises. “You’ve just had a nice sleep. Oh, sweet thing, it’s good to see you again.” 

He nuzzled Abel’s cheek, and Abel giggled. 

“They’re due for a feeding, if you’d like,” Crowley said grudgingly. 

As was the case last time, more food ended up on Abel than it did in their mouth. When Aziraphale finished cleaning them up, they immediately demanded to be put back down on the floor, where they toddled over to a corner of the room and started pulling toys out of a box. They were beautifully hand-crafted pieces. Aziraphale recognized several different kinds of animals, as well as a rattle.

“Where did you find these?” he asked Crowley as Abel stuck the head of a giraffe in their mouth. 

“I made them.” 

“You what?”

Crowley shrugged. “Couldn’t exactly miracle a bunch of toys into existence, could I? Might lead to questions. S’not a bad hobby, wood carving. Relaxing.” 

Abel wandered back over to them, toys in hand. They thrust one at Aziraphale, insistent that he take it, and he stared blankly at it before looking at Crowley.

“What is this?” 

“Er.” Crowley at least had the grace to look sheepish. “S’an angel.” 

The figure Abel had handed him was beautifully carved, Aziraphale had to admit. It had great, sweeping wings that curved up, toward Heaven. Crowley had taken the time to etch in each individual feather, and when Aziraphale turned the figure over, he saw that Crowley had even given it a face, and gentle curls that framed its--

“Well, they’ve got to know what you look like, don’t they?” Crowley said defensively when Aziraphale’s head snapped up to stare at him. “You’re not here!”

“And whose fault is that!” Aziraphale demanded. 

Abel, apparently unhappy with the unexpected outbursts, wrapped their arms around Aziraphale’s leg and shouted, “Zi!” 

Both Aziraphale and Crowley looked at them.

“What was that, dearest?” Aziraphale asked.

"Zi, zi, zi, zi," Abel babbled happily. They stretched out an arm to him, and opened and closed their fist several times. 

"Use your words," Crowley admonished lightly. "I know you have them." 

"Zi," Abel said.

"What do you want?" Crowley picked up the rattle. "This? You need to say the word first."

Abel frowned unhappily.

"Zizi," they said insistently.

"No, this is a--" Crowley broke off abruptly, yellow eyes widening.

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale was instantly on alert. He reached out with his senses, feeling for another aura, but as far as he could tell the three of them were the only ones in the vicinity. 

"That's you, Aziraphale," he said faintly. Abel was growing frustrated, and bright tears filled their eyes.

"Zizi!" they demanded. "Zizi!" 

"You're Zizi," Crowley clarified. "They mean _ you _." 

"_ Oh _." Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m--well, that’s simply--ah.” 

Crowley scooped Abel off the floor and handed them over to Aziraphale, who promptly dropped the angel figurine so he could clutch the child. “There you go, dove. There’s your Zizi.” 

“Zizi,” Abel agreed happily, plunging a hand into Aziraphale’s hair and grabbing a fist full of curls. “Zi, zi, zi.” 

“I’ve been trying to get them to say _ Aziraphale _ , but that was probably too ambitious,” Crowley mused. “At the very least I was aiming for _ Zira _, but I guess you’re Zizi now. Angel, what’s wrong?”

He sounded suddenly panicked. Aziraphale blinked, and was surprised to find a thin film over his eyes had blurred his vision. He scrubbed at them with his free hand, and it came away wet.

“Oh,” he said softly. Abel patted his cheeks with their hands, smearing away the tears. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. My apologies. I only…” 

Crowley’s expression was growing increasingly more concerned. Aziraphale drew a shuddering breath. He had given himself many names over the centuries, as humans would look askance at his true one, but none had ever been given to _ him _ ...except by Crowley, who called him _ angel _more often than not.

And now his child had named him as well. 

“It’s a bit overwhelming,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly. “It is, at that.” 

*******

**433 A.D. **

The eve of Abel’s four hundredth birthday found Aziraphale returning to Earth after yet another discorporation.

He manifested in the middle of a desert, naked, and even though there were no humans around he immediately miracled himself a set of robes. He then snapped his fingers and transported himself back to Asia. If Gabriel had an issue with it, he could take it up with Aziraphale at his next performance review. Right now, Aziraphale didn’t give--well, a _ damn _. 

Crowley and Abel had been waiting for him. That was all he could think about, the one thing that had dominated his thoughts for the past twenty years. He’d been seeing Abel on a more regular basis since the child started calling him _ Zizi _ , since Crowley had seen just how much they adored each other. Not long after the turn of the century, Crowley had finally-- _ finally _\--come around to the idea of leaving Abel with Aziraphale. Not for a few hours, but for a few years. Alone and unsupervised. 

And then he’d been sent on a mission for Heaven, a routine mission that shouldn’t have been particularly strenuous. A mission that had him performing a handful of blessings, inspiring a few visions, and then he’d be on his way. Back to Crowley, back to their child, back to this life he’d been trying to carve out for himself these past few centuries.

He should have known it would end in disaster. Truly, he should have seen it coming, given what a _ fool _he was. 

Crowley and Abel had been _ waiting for him _.

Twenty years wasn’t long for immortal beings, barely the blink of an eye, even if it had felt like an eternity. Crowley was still living in the same hut in the same village that Aziraphale had been traveling to when he’d been discorporated. When the village came into view, Aziraphale’s desperation got the better of him, and he accidentally popped out of existence and manifested inside the hut. 

Crowley and Abel stared at him in shock. Then Abel shrieked, “_Zizi, you came back!_” and launched themself into Aziraphale’s arms. 

After three hundred years as a baby, Abel had grown at a remarkable rate this past century--and, apparently, in the twenty years that Aziraphale had been away. They now resembled a child on the upper end of toddlerhood, and though Aziraphale was thrilled by this, it also pained him to know that he would never get to cradle Abel as a baby again. 

“Pretty stupid of you,” Crowley said finally, “getting trampled to death by a horse. As discorporations go, that’s probably one of your more embarrassing ones.”

“Shut up, fiend,” Aziraphale said cheerfully, because he wasn’t about to have his reunion with Abel ruined by a surly serpent. “Hello, my love. How have you been?”

He kissed Abel loudly on the cheek, and Abel half-heartedly tried to squirm away from him, laughing all the while. 

“Zizi, I _ missed _you,” Abel said, wrapping their thin arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

“Oh, dearest, you have no idea how much I missed _ you_.” 

“Mum’s mad at you,” Abel told him in a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for Crowley to hear.

“Is he?” Aziraphale murmured. “Why’s that, dearest?”

“You _ left_.”

“I didn’t leave, Abel. I would never.” Aziraphale pulled back far enough to look Abel in the face. He smoothed a swath of red curls out of their eyes. “I was...called away. On important business.” 

“Zizi’s body died,” Crowley said bluntly. “I should know. I was the one who found it.” 

Abel twisted around to look at him, their brows furrowed in honest confusion. “But Zizi came back.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said before Crowley could cut in. “I came back. As long as I am able, I will come back to you, my love.” 

“Where did you go?” Abel demanded. It was disorienting, speaking in full sentences to this child who could only manage a handful of words the last time Aziraphale had seen them. 

“I went...to work,” Aziraphale said. “My...bosses wanted to speak to me.”

Abel gave him a dubious look. 

“For twenty years?” they asked. They sounded so much older than they appeared. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with that. Surely it made sense? But he had never raised a half-demon, half-angel child before. He had no idea what was normal and what was not. 

“That wasn’t my choice,” he said finally. “These things take a long time in Heaven.” 

He looked at Crowley then, who was still staring at him, and lifted an eyebrow. 

“Does this corporation meet your approval, then?”

Crowley visibly startled. 

“Er...yeah, it’s great. Fine, I mean.” 

“Have I missed anything important?” He shifted Abel in his arms and tilted his head at the child. “Aside from the obvious.” 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Crowley said with forced cheer. “They sent a replacement field agent for you.”

Aziraphale hadn’t been aware of that. Gabriel had never sent a replacement all of the other times he had been discorporated. 

“Who?”

“Anael.” 

Cold seeped into Aziraphale. “I see.” 

“Efficient, he is,” Crowley said, still in that mild tone that had a hint of danger lingering underneath. “And he does proper smitings, too, not the mild reprimands you do.” 

“He’s carrying out the Almighty’s orders,” Aziraphale said mechanically, painfully aware that he would need to carry out those same orders now that he was back. “It’s--”

“Ineffable, yes, I know.”

“Zizi, want down,” Abel demanded suddenly, and Aziraphale set them back on the floor. “Come see.” 

They grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and tugged him over to a windowsill, where there were several pots full of lush, verdant plants. 

“Those’re Mum’s,” Abel said, pointing to the five pots that held the largest plants. “_This _is mine.” 

They proudly touched the leaf of a plant that wasn’t nearly as large or lush as the others, and which had a few specks of brown on its leaves. But it was still growing, and still very much full of life. Aziraphale bent down to give it a proper inspection, and then declared, “Well, it’s absolutely _ lovely_, Abel. You’re growing this all by yourself?” 

“Mum tried to yell at it.” Abel frowned at Crowley over their shoulder, and Aziraphale quickly turned his laugh into a cough. 

“Yes, Mum tends to do that, doesn’t he?” 

“Bloody angels,” Crowley muttered under his breath, and stalked away.

It was remarkable, truly, having a child with whom he could have some semblance of a conversation. Abel, once encouraged, talked almost incessantly. Much of what they said were strings of words that, when placed together in a row, formed sentences of nonsense. But Aziraphale still managed to piece together what Abel and Crowley had been up to for the past twenty years, and Abel understood him perfectly well. 

“Want a story!” Abel demanded suddenly, and Aziraphale blinked at them.

“It’s almost time for their nap,” Crowley said, as though that should clarify things. He hoisted Abel up onto a hip and said, “Which one would you like, dove?”

“The snake one!” 

Crowley lifted an eyebrow at Aziraphale, and it took him a moment to remember.

“Goodness. I haven’t told them that story in ages. They remember it?”

“They remember everything we’ve ever said around them,” Crowley said, tucking a lock of Abel’s fiery hair behind their ear. “Even if they couldn’t communicate with us at the time. Are you going to tell the story, or should I?”

“Zizi tells it better,” Abel muttered, and that settled the matter.

When they finally fell asleep, long before Aziraphale had finished the story, Crowley fetched two goblets of wine and handed one to Aziraphale.

“That buys us an hour, maybe two,” he said in a low voice. “Anything I should know?”

“Nothing that pertains to you,” Aziraphale said. Gabriel hadn’t been pleased with his latest discorporation, but then, Gabriel was rarely pleased about anything. “How are things here?” 

“About the same. It’s only been twenty years.”

They lapsed into silence. Finally, Aziraphale said, “I’ve been thinking.” 

“Have you?” Crowley wasn’t paying him much mind anymore. His eyes were fixed on Abel’s sleeping face.

“Yes, I had rather a lot of time on my hands in Heaven. I have a proposal.” 

Crowley lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that, then?”

“An arrangement, of sorts.”

“An arrangement,” Crowley repeated slowly.

“We’ve been meeting for well over a century. Obviously, if I’d had any intention of taking Abel to Heaven, I would have done so by now.”

“I’m not certain that’s true.” 

“You forget I was a soldier once,” Aziraphale said softly. “A general, in fact. I fought in the war, same as you. I’m more than capable of taking you on again, if needed.”

“A lone general against the Serpent of Eden?” Crowley’s eyes had grown dark, his expression stormy. “There’s an amusing thought.”

“Thankfully, we’ll never have to find out how that might have played out, as I have no intention of fighting you,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Nor do I want to see Abel fall into anyone else’s hands--Hell’s _ or _Heaven’s. It...you were right, Crowley, you’ve been right all this time. Heaven would look no more favorably upon a demonic child than Hell would upon an angelic one. Abel’s best chance is on Earth. With us.” 

Crowley searched his face, his serpent eyes unnervingly bright in the dark room. 

“I assume this is where this...arrangement of yours comes into play?”

“You’ve said it before. Our head offices don’t particularly care how something gets done so long as they can cross it off the list, and more often than not, we’re simply canceling each other out,” Aziraphale said in a rush. He drew a breath he didn’t need and said, “So I propose that Abel stays with one of us while the other goes to do Heaven’s _ and _Hell’s bidding. We trade off.” 

“That’s...an intriguing proposition,” Crowley allowed cautiously.

“It _ was _ your idea.” Crowley had proposed it many centuries before Abel came into being, but Aziraphale hadn’t been ready to consider it then.

“That was before there was a child involved.” 

“You know that Abel stands a better chance if we aren’t meeting up all the time. Your bosses or mine can drop in on us at any moment, as we’ve learned. A child can be explained away, or hidden with a simple ward. You and I cannot.” 

Crowley reached out a hand and stroked Abel’s hair. Their curls had darkened since babyhood, and took on a red tinge when the light was right. They slept on, oblivious.

“They’re a child, they need stability,” Crowley said finally. “We can’t be swapping weekends or even every other week.” 

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale said. “I envisioned something longer. Say, every fifty years or so?” 

Crowley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

“Hell’s left me mostly alone for four hundred years, but that won’t last. I have to secure souls for them, if I want to remain stationed here on Earth. If I can work unimpeded for a time, and then if you’re able to do the same when I have Abel...”

He trailed off. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Yes, given all of that, it would seem that it would be in both our best interests to trade off raising Abel. We can still do our jobs, and it will limit the time we spend together.”

“Less chance of getting caught that way,” Crowley agreed. 

Aziraphale lingered until Abel woke up from their nap so he could say goodbye. The child’s face immediately crumpled when they realized what was happening.

“Zizi’s leaving?” they asked, looking from Aziraphale to Crowley.

“I’m afraid so, ‘Bel.” Crowley laid a hand on top of their head, stroking his fingers through their curls.

“I’ll see you again very soon, Abel.” Aziraphale sank into a crouch so he could meet their eyes. “I promise.” 

“Want Zizi t’stay,” Abel muttered, their eyes quickly welling. Aziraphale shot Crowley a look; he didn’t know how to handle this. 

“Aziraphale will come back,” Crowley tried, but Abel was openly crying now.

“Zizi _ stay_,” they insisted, tears smearing their cheeks. Aziraphale reached for them, to gather them into his arms, but then there was a tiny _ pop _and Abel had vanished. 

“What--” he started, and then he looked down. A tiny snake lay coiled on the ground between them. It slithered quickly over to Aziraphale and wrapped around his ankle. Aziraphale straightened slowly, and the little snake coiled its way up his leg. “Did you know about this?”

“No.” Crowley’s voice was faint, and he stared wide-eyed at the snake. “I didn’t know they could do that.” 

Aziraphale gently pried the snake off his leg and held it in his hands. A forked tongue flicked out, fluttering against his thumb, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but grin.

“Oh, Abel,” he murmured, still smiling. “You’re just like Mum, you know. He turns into a snake, too, when emotions get to be too much for him. You remarkable child. Crowley--” 

But the look on Crowley’s face when he glanced over stopped him dead. 

“Crowley? What is it, what’s wrong?”

Crowley quickly masked his expression, smoothing it over, but not fast enough. Not before Aziraphale recognized the utter dejection written on his face.

“I thought they’d take after you,” he muttered. “They look more like you, anyway. I thought they’d have your traits. Not--not mine.” 

Aziraphale smoothed his thumb over Abel’s coils. The little snake closed their eyes, and he thought they looked quite content. 

“Well, I think they’re beautiful.” Aziraphale said. He kissed their head, then placed them in Crowley’s hands. Crowley held them in cupped palms, delicately, almost reverently. “I’ll be off, then.” 

“Right,” Crowley said faintly. “See you in fifty years, angel.”


End file.
